


A Storm of Songs

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Inspired by Music, clint is a little shit, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: Storm Vasco knew from a young age she was meant to sing. Nothing in her life made her happier than standing before a mic, belting out her favourite songs, and performing for an audience.Then everything changed.A group affiliated with Hydra now wants her for her voice. Still, the last thing she expected was for Hawkeye to drop out of the ceiling, spewing move quotes, and breaking the heels off her shoes, but when Clint opened his mouth and sang, Storm was enticed from the very first.With a new group of bad guys hot on her tail, a tour on the line, and her safety under question, what else is a girl to do but bring on an opening act.An Avenger in disguise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Language, canon typical violence
> 
> Songs referenced: Nomad by Jeremy Renner, Peer Pressure (Acoustic Version) by James Bay feat. Julia Michaels
> 
> Story playlist available on Spotify. Link on Tumblr.

* * *

Clint scrubbed his hair, a smirk curling his lips. "I was born a soldier," he sang, following the music playing in his shower. "Wagin' a war against all that said "I-told-ya." With my feet on the ground and my heart on my shoulder. And I don't mind if I gotta start all over."

He swung his hips, noting the bruise on his buttock ached a little, as did the one on his shoulder, but they were better than when he'd earned them. "I'm just going with the flowing no matter where I am going, and I got no plans of slowing _dooowwwn_ . I'm a man on a mission. There ain’t no stopping no quittin'; I guess it's my disposition. I'm a _Nomad_!" he belted, giving his chest a final wash before turning off the water and skimming the excess from his body with a flick of hands down his arms, chest, and legs.

"Yeah, yeah." He stepped out of the shower with a bit of a strut. He was cleared for active duty again and grinned at his foggy reflection.

"If this world's a circle, ooh, I've got no time for them squares. Two plus two must equal, "I don't care," yeah, I'll jump right off the edge to get me there." He scrubbed a towel over his head, then wrapped another around his waist. "I'm just going with the flowing no matter where I am going, and I've got no plans of slowing _dooowwwn_ . I'm a man on a mission. There ain’t no stopping no quittin'; I guess it's my disposition. I'm a _Nom_ \- ahhhhhh!" he screamed and jumped, slipped on the tile floor, and went straight to his back. Luckily his acrobatic training was practically instinctive and saved his ass when he rolled onto his shoulder, over his head and into a crouch to glare at Natasha. "What the fuck, Nat? Are you trying to kill me?"

She smirked from the edge of his bed, watching him with cat-eyed amusement that made him wary. She was up to something. "Nice voice."

"Fuck you."

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm serious. You sound good, Barton."

"Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. I don't need everyone up my ass about it," he grumbled, getting off the floor.

"Briefing in twenty," she smirked, springing off the mattress. "Steve wanted me to make sure you were on time."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffed. "I'll be there."

She glided across the floor and glanced through the open door into the bath. "Still looks painful. You sure you're up for this?"

He looked at his reflection and the ugly bruise riding high on his shoulder. "Yeah. Looks worse than it is. It's not affecting my bow anymore." He'd taken a nasty fall off a building, the wall his grappling arrow implanted in tearing away ten feet from the ground. His cat-like prowess had failed him that time, landing him on his hip and shoulder - painfully. 

"So long as you're okay," she said, worry pulling her brows together. 

He ran a knuckle down her cheek. "I'm good, Nat. Promise."

She stared him in the eyes for a long, tense moment before nodding. "Hm. Don't be late."

"I won't be if you get out of here." He turned to his closet right as her fingers hooked in his towel. "Nat," he huffed, grabbing for it but it was already gone. He rolled his eyes and walked on naked. "You're such a brat." 

A second shriek left him when she snapped it viciously against his ass, leaving behind a red welt. "Bitch! The fuck?" he groused, rubbing his butt.

"Don't be late."

"We're too fucking comfortable with each other. Get out."

She snickered and chucked the towel at his head. He plucked it out of the air and threw it back, smacking her in the face. She spat something Russian and wrinkled her nose, holding it by two fingers. 

"And just think, I used that to dry my balls."

"Ew!" she squealed as he strode into his closet. 

"Serves you right," he sang as the door to his room slammed shut.

The grin didn't leave his face once while he dressed and headed to the briefing.

***

He trotted into the briefing two minutes before time and headed straight for the coffee pot. Once he was subsequently fortified with a 'cup of Joe,' Clint flopped into the chair beside Nat, slumped down, and stuck his face in the steam.

"You gonna drink that or make love to it?" Bucky quipped.

Clint slowly flipped him the bird without removing his face from the aroma of deliciously roasted beans. "If only, Barnes. If only."

"You're disgusting," Sam said, his face twisted into a comical version of what could only be described as _eww_.

"Your mama didn't think so last time I visited."

"What did you just say about my mama?" Sam growled.

"I inferred," Clint smirked. "I didn't _say_ anything."

"I think I liked it better when he was injured," Sam muttered, but a smirk was twitching his lips.

Clint blew him a kiss. "You missed me, Sammy. We all know it."

"Well, I see Barton's back in good spirits," Steve chuckled, walking through the door with Tony on his heels.

Everyone took their seats, Wanda and Vision, Bruce, Sam, and Bucky, while Tony and Steve stood at the front where they clicked off the lights and began the briefing. 

"We've had Intel that an organization with ties to Hydra is looking at this woman." 

The image popped up, and Clint perked up. 

She was a looker. Her eyes appeared to pierce through him; right to the soul. In one image they were blue, another grey. One held a hint of lavender, while in another they looked almost green. He'd never seen anything like them. Nor the pain he found hidden inside them. Her eyes were windows to what lurked in their depths. 

Clint wonders how many people could see past the smile on her red lips.

She had a mane of dark curls, unruly and long in some pictures, tamed and tied back in others. He preferred the wild mess that went with those sinful lips. 

"Storm Kalliope Vasco, born February twenty-seventh, nineteen eighty-five, to parents Mikos and Elissa who immigrated here with their parents from the Isle of Crete in the fifties," Steve stated.

"Until seven years ago, she and her band were struggling artists fighting for every gig they could get. Back then, she was good." Stark clicked a remote, and a video of the band popped up. 

Tony was right. She was good, a mix of pop and rock with a bluesy undertone. She had a sexy, smoky voice he could envision listening too on repeat.

"Then, they fell off the map for a couple of years. When they came back," Stark clicked the remote, "she sounded like this."

Sexy had become so much more. Haunting. Wild. Seductive. Goosebumps rose on his flesh listening to that voice. It was like a devil beckoning him to sin. 

"Holy fuck," Barnes murmured. "Someone got a serious upgrade."

"Seven years ago, the Terragenesis incident happened. As far as we can tell, it's only affected her voice, but it's worked in a big way. She's selling out venues, has become her label's darling of the industry, but at one of her concerts this happened." Steve nodded to Tony.

Stark clicked the remote and a video, obviously taken by a fan in one of the upper seats, showed a fight break out at the base of her stage. At first, it was two or three people - not even his eyes could focus with something that shaky - then it was swelling, people throwing punches like a wave, gradually involving more and more of the audience until the woman, Storm, stepped into the microphone and began to sing.

It was only a slow exhale, a single held vowel that swelled and crashed and shut the venue down into silence. 

All the hair on Clint's neck stood straight. "Fuck me."

"Impressive," Nat mumbled.

He shot her a look. She was back to smirking at him. Clint tucked his nose into his coffee cup. 

Steve stepped in front of the screen. "According to the information we've been given, she rarely if ever uses that power, but it’s potent. She had that entire arena eating out of the palm of her hand afterward. You can imagine what that ability would be capable of if she used it for evil."

"We think it's a form of mind control. People interviewed after the incident said it was like there was nothing they wouldn't do to make her happy. When interviewed again a few days later, it was like they couldn't quite remember what happened,” Tony said.

"Great, just what we need. More mind control," Bucky muttered.

“After a hard look at her manager,” Steve stepped out of the way of the screen, “we reached out to Simon Sullivan. He’s been with her since the beginning, a childhood friend. Since they’re in town for a surprise performance, we brought him in and explained what we suspect without letting on we know of Miss Vasco’s abilities. It looks like this group wants to make a play for her while she’s here. 

We’ve got a shot at catching them in the act tonight. We don’t know much about this group, but they call themselves Criatura de las Profundidades and originated in Venezuela. It looks like they've been scooping up terragenesis survivors. There are at least six people whose disappearances are tied to the group."

"So we're babysitting?" Sam asked.

"More like diva sitting," Clint murmured. Steve shot him a glare. "What? We all know little Miss Pop Star is going to be a total diva."

"We don't know that, and if we do our jobs, she'll never know we were there." Steve shot Nat a glance, and she eagerly slapped Clint in the back of the head.

"Dammit, woman!" he barked, slopping coffee on his shirt.

"Your mouth is working without your brain again. You needed Cognitive Reconditioning."

He turned toward her and stuck out his tongue.

"If the children are quite finished?" Stark snickered. "Assignments. Barnes, Vision, and Rogers are the most recognizable and will be hanging back, watching from outside the venue. Wilson and Romanoff will be backstage looking for anything suspicious. Wanda will be back there too, on the lookout for bad guys thinking naughty thoughts. Brucey Bear and I will run point from the quinjet where we can bring in the big guns if we need to, and the Hawk will - as per the norm - pick a nest and watch from above the stage."

"Alright!" Clint pumped a fist.

"Only you, Barton, would rather watch than participate," Barnes snickered.

"Oh, I've participated plenty, soldier," he smirked then winked.

"It has been so quiet around here without you, Clint," Wanda giggled. 

"Aw, I missed you too, sweetheart," he grinned.

"Yes, yes. Everyone loves a clown," Tony quipped. “I, however, have not missed cleaning coffee grounds out of the sink.”

Clint only smiled and shrugged when Tony glared at him. “I’m being set up. I swear.”

Tony made the face that everyone knew was his ‘moment away from throwing up his hands’ face, the exasperated one that gave Clint the giggles when no one was around. “I’m sure.”

“Can we get back to the mission?” Steve asked trying without success to hide his smile. 

Clint knew Steve liked goading that same face out of Tony and shared a grin with him. It was fun to annoy the billionaire. “Sure thing, Cap.”

“We have a short window in which we can get you into the rafters, Barton. You may be up there an hour or two before the show begins and you’ll need to stay out of sight.”

He glanced at the venue and shrugged. “It’s Stage Door 7. I’ve been up in those rafters before. No problem.” There was a great dive bar not far from there where he’d cleaned up playing pool.

“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked. 

Clint grinned and shrugged. “Probably not.”

Steve arched a brow but didn’t ask. “Alright. Then if everyone’s familiar with their assignments, let’s suit up.”

***

Clint lay on his belly on the large round air vent, bow perfectly balanced a few inches away, and quiver strapped to his back watching the people prepping for the show. He’d picked a vantage point that was right above the curtain, giving him a visual of both front stage and back where Wanda, Nat, and Sam were blending beautifully. 

Natasha had already acquired four phone numbers; her backstage pass displayed proudly between her overabundance of cleavage.

“You pour yourself into those pants, Red?" he teased.

She smiled at the man flirting with her and twirled a lock of her bright blonde hair. With her middle finger. 

Clint snickered and shifted his attention to Sam working security. "You've got a lurker, Sammy. Between the curtains and the stage to your left. Looks squirrelly."

"On it," Wilson murmured and headed that way.

Wanda looked adorable in her Storm Vasco t-shirt, handing out water from a table near the exit to the dressing rooms.

" _Aw, you're adorable too, Clint."_

He gave a silent chuckle. Wanda was definitely eavesdropping. “Lot of people in house, Cap. You sure these baddies are gonna make a play with all these witnesses?”

“That’s their MO. They appear to like an audience.”

They were going to get one tonight. A warehouse retrofitted into a club, Stage Door 7 had three floors, the second and third level made up of balconies where people could lean out and watch the show.

And they were packed. 

Clint had snuck in minutes after soundcheck while everyone was busy preparing for the show. New York wasn’t supposed to be a stop on Miss Vasco’s tour, but according to Stark, she’d been asked to play as a favour to a friend. 

It all sounded hinky to Clint, but then he was suspicious by nature. 

“Lurker was just a nervous kid. His pass checks out,” Wilson murmured glancing toward the ceiling. 

Clint smirked. Sam wasn’t even close to figuring out where he was. Then a flurry of activity near the doors had him slowly sitting up. “Showtime.” 

Storm Vasco came striding through in a bright red top and skinny black jeans, her heels so tall he wondered how the hell she walked in them, followed by a group of people each talking, pulling, pushing at her. 

Even from a distance, he could see the strain around her eyes and wondered at it. 

Eventually, she turned on the group and held up her hands. "Enough! Simon I've told you before, I have no desire to be in movies. I'm a singer, that's what I do. I don't care who is asking; the answer is a hard no thank you! Valerie, I swear if you spray me with hairspray one more time I'll make you eat that canister. Jasmine, I don't need costumes or wardrobe changes tonight. I've told you three times I'm fine with a simple performance. No pyrotechnics, no crazy light show, just music. Okay?"

All three backed off, each nodding, Simon even raised his hands. 

"Good, now, let's make some music." She smiled and tucked her ears in, the device that allowed her to hear her monitor, then walked toward the curtain where a roadie hand her a sleek Gibson Les Paul guitar in a pale shade of teal. 

Clint whimpered a little, his fingers itching to touch the pretty instrument. He'd love to caress those strings. Like singing, music wasn't something he shared with the others. It was difficult enough to keep parts of his life private, and his love of guitars, ability to play both electric and acoustic as well as tickle the ivories wasn't something he let just anyone know. 

Still, he edged forward a little, watching as she ran slender hands with sparkly dark nails over the strings. The house lights flickered, and for one brief minute, she looked straight up.

Clint froze when their gazes collided. Surely there was no way for her to see him, but the smile pulling on her lip said otherwise. Then she hummed, and Clint felt it hit him in the chest, sending a shockwave through his bones.

A hum of his own escaped when she took a deep breath. Her cue came in the rise of sound from the venue and drum solo rolling over the noise. Then she was gone, stalking out beneath him.

"Hey! How are you all doing tonight? You ready to make some noise?" she called. People screamed and made her laugh. 

It was unfairly sexy that laugh.

"I'm so excited to be here tonight at Stage Door 7 in New York City! Woo! Yeah! I love it here!" She pumped a fist in the air. "How's about we get this party started?"

People shrieked and whistled as Storm laughed and gave the band a nod. A catchy, quick beat and her fingers were flying on her guitar. 

Clint did his best to tune her out, not easy when he was sitting on top of the music, listening to the sound of sin, and slid his specially designed shades on his nose. They cut out the flash from her changing lights. 

"You got anything outside?" he hollered to the team. 

"No movement," Bucky replied.

Clint turned his attention to the crowd and watched for a while. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked.

"People come to a concert to enjoy the music, but I've got six, seven, eight people who aren't even pretending to enjoy it. They all look like Sam when Bucky gave him that steering wheel cover for Christmas."

"Come on, man! The son of a bitch put my detached steering wheel in it!" Sammy huffed.

Bucky chuckled through the com. 

Clint snickered, snatched up his bow and hopped to his feet. In the deep shadows of the rafters, he balanced his way down to stand directly above Storm on stage. 

“Give us the rundown, Barton.”

“Cap, I think you and Barnes better get your asses in here. Vision, I may need a quick exit.”

“I await your word,” the android murmured. 

“Nat, I’ve got two that just took out security on the right of the stage.”

“On it.” He caught a flash of blonde as she dashed past the curtain and off the stage, sticking to the shadows. 

“Wilson, same on the left.”

“I see them.”

“Wanda? You got anything?”

“They have a hive mind! They are working in tandem.” She gasped sharply and rushed toward the curtain. “Look out!”

Clint could feel the energy building long before it began to flicker in his peripheral. The explosion rocked the stage, throwing Storm to the ground and sending the crowd screaming while he scrambled for balance. “Dammit all to hell!” he snapped. “Stark! You’re going to need to watch that exit! The crowd is in full stampede!”

“We’re on crowd control. You get Miss Vasco out of there!” Cap commanded. 

His fingers were already flashing on his bow, pulling arrow after arrow out of the quiver. The first went into the roof, a grappling arrow, the first he’d used since his accident. It sent a shock through him, a little tinge of nerves, then a wave or red power slammed off the stage as Wanda knocked two of the four people climbing onto it away from the fallen band members. 

_“You’ve got this, Clint.”_

He smirked at how she was there to boost his confidence after all the times he’d boosted hers and fired the other four arrows, creating a square around Storm who was struggling to her knees. She looked a little dazed but otherwise unharmed. 

The last two assailants charged at her and were stopped cold when they ran between the arrows. They were the same technology that once froze Vision in his tracks, so Clint assumed they’d work on a mostly human, and stepped off the air duct to drop down beside Storm. 

As he landed, Clint smiled and held out his hand. “Come with me if you want to live.” She gaped up at him but didn’t say a damn thing. “Really? Nothing? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to use that line and I get _zero_ reaction?” He gave a long suffering sigh and dragged her off the floor by the elbow. “Come on. We need to get you out of here.”

“Who?” she finally gasped, staring at him with those amazing eyes.

“Seriously, sweetheart? Now I’m doubly insulted.” He yanked her arm around his neck and grabbed her waist. A quick click of his bow and they were ascending toward the ceiling. Her arm tightened and the free one quickly joined its twin. “Vis! I need that fast exit!”

“Coming up.” 

The android phased through the ceiling as Clint and Storm landed on the air duct. His eyes widened causing Clint to glance down. The two trapped in his electrified field were free and ganging up on the little witch. “Fuck! Help Wanda. I’ll get Miss Vasco out my way.”

Vision left in a rush, and Clint turned to Storm. “Give me your shoes.”

“What?” She looked utterly dazzled. 

Clint crouched, aware they were running out of time. Cap and Barnes had come through somewhere, Tony had ripped the doors off the front of the building to create bigger exits and was helping someone who’d fallen in the stampede. Everyone was engaged except himself and probably Bruce. “Hold onto my shoulder and give me your foot.”

She followed his instructions, though slower than he would have liked. As soon as she was balanced, he snapped the heel off, repeating the action with her second shoe. She didn’t squeal or protest, making him wonder if maybe she wasn’t as flighty as he thought. 

A thud vibrated the air duct. 

Clint glanced past her legs and quickly threw the heel of her stiletto at the black-clad individual in the mask. He sure as hell wasn’t looking at Bucky. 

The heel embedded in the man's forehead, sending him plummeting to the floor below. 

That seemed to knock Storm out of her stupor. “Oh, my God! You killed him.”

“He would have killed me and kidnapped you. That’s how this works.” Clint caught her hand and yanked her after him, watching her balance as they made their way quickly off the air duct. “We need to get out of here.”

“How?”

He smirked over his shoulder. “Same way I got in.”

It took longer getting out, especially with crap raining down on them as the group fought tooth and nail to escape the Avengers. Storm, surprisingly, kept up as she followed him through the dusty space and down the stairs he’d found years ago. They’d likely been closed up because they were narrow and dangerous, so when Storm put her foot through one of the steps and fell into him, Clint was there to catch her against his chest, having been leading her sideways down them. 

“Careful,” he murmured, held hostage by her eyes in the glow he created with a luminous arrow. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Can I ask what the hell is happening?”

“Bad guys. Kidnapping attempt. Foiled by the good guys.”

She smirked, tugging her foot from the step. “Cute, but considering Hawkeye rescued me, there’s more to it I’m sure.”

A grin curled his lips. “So you do know who I am! Barton for the win!” Clint pumped a fist.

She giggled - dear lord - _giggled_ and nearly landed Clint on his face. “I do. And I did get the Terminator reference, I was just… in shock.”

“You have successfully redeemed yourself,” he whispered, reaching the bottom of the steps. “Let’s get you out of here; then we’ll explain everything.”

“What about Simon? And my bandmates? The rest of my crew?”

He shook his head. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can find out.” Clint shrugged his quiver off his back and squeezed into the space between the old walls and the new where he side walked down to a large air return that was no longer attached to a vent. 

It took some contorting, but he bent to look through the grate, then kicked it out when the room beyond proved empty. He slid out and reached back to help Storm step through, then picked a chunk of cobwebs out of her hair. 

The door to the room squeaked as it opened, and Clint spun, his bow held ready. Another black clad baddy slunk in the door he immediately cracked across the temple. The one coming through behind him took Clint's fist to the jaw. Both slumped to the ground. 

He peeked out, checking the hallway before motioning to Storm to join him. 

“Christ, they just keep coming,” she whispered, stepping over the prone bodies.

“You and that voice of yours are in high demand.”

She stiffened. “What?”

He winced internally having spilled the beans. “We know, Storm. About the Terragenesis and your vocal change, but so do other people. Including a group linked to Hydra.”

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Chicago, right? Dammit!”

“Hey,” he murmured, tugging her closer. “You did the right thing. A lot of people could have gotten hurt if you hadn’t shut that shit down.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with her surprise. “You’re the first one to say so. The others were pissed I took the risk.”

“So the band and your manager know?”

“Simon and the band, yes, they’re my family, but the rest of the crew doesn't,” she murmured, worry in her voice.

He led her by the hand down the hall to the emergency exit. “I’m sure they’re okay. Bruce?”

“Barton? Where are you?” 

“Emergency exit, southeast corner. Alarms are going to go crazy when I hit this door.”

“I had to help with the wounded. The stampede and explosion did some serious damage, and this group isn’t giving up. There’s more than eight now. We don’t know where the hell they keep coming from.”

Clint gritted his teeth. “Stay there. I’ve got Miss Vasco and will take her somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

“Ask Nat. She’ll know.” He turned his attention to Storm and found her chewing her lip. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just worried.”

He squeezed her hand. “They’ll be alright. Let’s get you out of here, so hopefully, this group will back off once they figure out you’ve escaped.”

She gave a determined nod. 

Clint shoved the door open, bracing for the screaming alarms, and arched a brow when nothing happened. “Huh. Either that was incredibly lucky, or someone has some explaining to do.” 

“I love Lucy?”

He gasped and turned toward her. “Oh, my God, I love you!”

She giggled. Again. It did things to him on a visceral level he wasn’t sure what to do with. 

Once outside, he paused to take in their surroundings. A lot enclosed by a chain-link fence where her tour buses sat dark and empty stretched out before them. 

Clint glanced at Storm and pressed a finger to his lips. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. She nodded and took his offered hand. 

Together they crept through the lot to a corner deep in shadows where Clint climbed up to straddle the top and reach down to help Storm. She arched an amused brow and scaled the fence with apparent ease. He chuckled softly and jumped down where she allowed him to assist her to the ground. 

Everything was quiet, but he used the excuse of looking around to keep hold of her waist a moment longer. When he glanced down, she was staring up at him, and thanks to the shades he still wore, he could see the blush coat her cheeks. 

“You ever been in a dive bar?” he asked. 

A smile curled her lips. “I was once a starving musician. Dive bars were my bread and butter.”

He smirked and led her down an alley, keeping to the shadows until he came to a filthy, paint peeling, disgusting back door he pounded with his fist. A few seconds past with no answer, making him kick it. 

“Keep pants on. I am fucking coming.” The door swung open to reveal a massive bear of a man. “No fucking way.” 

“Slav, come on. Does it look like I’m here to hustle your clientele?” Clint huffed.

“Hm. You still owe money for breaking jukebox,” he growled. 

“Fine, fine. Send the bill to Stark. It will get paid. Now, will you let us in? We need to get off the street.”

His ice-blue eyes drifted over Storm. “If pretty lady sits with me.”

“I will put you through the wall, Slav. Then I’ll tell Natasha what you just said.”

The big man paled and immediately stepped back. “Is Widow here?”

“Soon.” Clint tugged Storm behind him into the dimly lit back room. His bow collapsed down with a few button clicks as they followed Slav into the bar. He dropped his quiver off his shoulder, keeping it low and out of sight, and slid into a booth in a dark corner. 

“Now what?” Storm asked. 

“Now, we wait.” He leaned across the table, pushed his glasses up on his head, and asked, “Did the guitar make it?”

Storm looked surprised for a second before breaking into a grin. “A man after my own heart. Yeah, pretty sure it was alive when you yanked me into the ceiling.”

He gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. “I did not _yank_! I guided you gently.”

“You broke the heels off my shoes.”

“To keep you from falling out of the rafters.”

She giggled, then quickly sobered. “I really need to know if everyone is okay.”

Clint reached for her hand. “They will be. Trust me. The others will look after them.”

Slav returned to the table with a guitar, causing Storm to pale. “You are here. You sing. We call it even.”

“Oh, I…” she began to refuse.

“Dude,” Clint huffed knowing it wasn't Storm Slav was asking. “I’m kind of working here.” He pointed at the quiver half full of arrows. 

“No one knows you are here. Boris has been watching door.” He shoved the guitar into Clint’s chest and walked away.

“Damn, pushy Russians,” Clint grumbled. 

“Hawkeye plays?” Storm smirked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Few do,” he sighed, sliding from the booth. The stage was a few feet away, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving her side to entertain the handful of people nursing their lonely beers. “Don’t move,” he ordered, jumping up on the small stage that was barely big enough for him, the mic, and the stool he plopped his ass on. 

A quick check of the strings and he had the guitar tuned. Then Clint began to play. 

***

Storm’s pulse had only just slowed after the whirlwind thirty minutes she’d spent in the presence of Clint Barton. Confused barely covered how she felt at present. Afraid. Stressed. Angry. All held a little piece of her feelings but scared for her family sat front and center. 

She could only hope and pray the other Avengers were looking after them as well as Hawkeye was taking care of her. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, but Storm’s control was tenuous when frightened. She didn’t want to hurt Clint in the process of protecting herself. 

The fact that the Avengers knew of her, of her abilities, also caused her heart to trip and jump. Would they think her terrible for using her gift the way she had? All Storm had ever wanted to do was sing. Would they make her stop?

Then the quiet picking of Clint’s guitar drew her attention hard and fast. The song, Peer Pressure, a favourite of hers. 

“Seven texts, two am, halfway dressed, all saying call me up. You can't sleep, you're testing me, bad but sweet, and I'm just tryna keep it together. Ooh and now you're sayin', "Put your hands on my body just like you think you know me. Want your heart beating on me, don't leave me hot and lonely." I don't usually give in to peer pressure, but I'll give in to yours.”

She was sliding out of the booth and heading for the stage before she could second guess herself. His voice was gravel and whiskey, so soft and sexy, his hands light and loving as Clint's fingers danced on the strings, plucking them like a man seducing a woman. It was perhaps the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

He shot her a frown. “When we met, innocent, now I'm dead every time you're touchin' me.” 

She climbed up beside him and propped her hip on the spare inch of his stool, inhaled, and began to harmonize as she hadn’t in years. “You're dancing around on my mind every second. I'm under control till you're in front of me. Maybe I'm scared, I don't care, I'm addicted. I'm in it.”

“And you _say_ ,” he growled.

She breathed and sang out with him, “Put your hands on my body just like you think you know me. Want your heart beating on me, don't leave me hot and lonely.” 

Clint smirked, his gaze on her mouth. “I don't usually give in to peer pressure, but I'll give in to yours.”

She grinned and picked up the harmony again. “So I give you my everything, and you keep on teasing, with that look in your eyes 'cause you know I believe it. I don't usually give in to peer pressure, but I'll give in to _yours_.”

She picked up the bridge and sang on her own. “Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh.” 

His smirk grew a little more. “Oh, I'll give in to _yours_.” 

“Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh.”

He shook his head, amused. “When we met, innocent. Now I'm dead and you're sayin'.”

Eyes locked, they inhaled and sang together, “Put your hands on my body just like you think you know me. Want your heart beating on me, don't leave me hot and lonely. I don't usually give in to peer pressure.”

“But I'll give in to _yours_.” His green eyes twinkled.

She laughed. “So I give you my everything and you keep on teasing, with that look in your eyes 'cause you know I believe it. I don't usually give in to peer pressure. Oh, but I'll give in to yours!”

“Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh.”

“Mmm, yeah, I'll give in to yours!” Clint pulled away from the mic, his voice rising in volume, falling into the music with her.

“Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh,” Storm smiled, her hand closing around the mic and heart tripping, their lips only inches apart.

They finished together in perfect syncrinization as if having sung together for years. “You're dancing around on my mind every second. I'm under control till you're in front of me. Maybe I'm scared, I don't care, I'm addicted. I'm in it.”

She couldn’t look away, caught on his eyes, wondering if they really were as powerful as a hawks and just what he saw when he looked at her. 

The sharp slap of hands coming together finally jerked her gaze from his out into the room where a woman with bright red hair stood smirking at the two of them. 

“Son of a bitch,” Clint muttered. 

“Nice voice, Barton.”

“Shut your piehole, Natasha,” he grumbled, scooting off the stool and off the stage where he tossed the guitar - an action that made Storm wince - to Slav who placed it behind the bar. 

The redhead stalked closer, her smile smug. “Miss Vasco, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Nice to meet you,” Storm murmured, frowning at Clint who seemed embarrassed. She didn’t understand why when he had a fantastic talent.

“Let’s get you to your family.”

Thoughts of Clint shifted swiftly. “They’re alright?” Storm asked, practically leaping from the stage. 

Natasha nodded. “I’ll explain on the way to the Tower.”

Relief flooded her as she followed the two Avengers out to a sleek black car, hoping this was the end of her crazy night. 

Too bad the crazy was only beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, smexy and fluff
> 
> Song used: Heavy In Your Arms by Florence and the Machine
> 
> This chapter brought to you by an incredibly generous anon. Thank you for your support!

* * *

Clint watched Storm run across the room and throw her arms around her manager. Tears sparkled on her lashes when she kissed his cheek and held his face, murmuring words too low for Clint to hear before moving onto her bandmates. 

There were three of them, one of which looked a little worse for wear with the scrape down the side of his face; a wound Storm just had to fuss over with gentle fingers and clucking noises, making that humming sound again, the one that hit Clint right in the chest before the man shooed her away with assurances he'd be fine. They clutched and clung to her when she pulled them into a group hug, clearly caring deeply for them all. 

"You're all okay?" she asked for the fifth time.

"We're good, Storm  _ mikroula, _ " the blonde Adonis, whose face she touched, smiled and yanked her down to sit beside him.

"You know I hate it when you call me that, Api," she sighed.

"As much as I hate Api," he grumbled, poking her in the belly.

Clint ground his teeth together, fighting down the roar of jealousy. "How about introductions?" he muttered, causing his team to shoot him concerned glances. "What?" he shrugged, ignoring Natasha and her smirking.

"And maybe an explanation as to why the Avengers crashed our concert," the darker of the three men touching Storm scowled.

Were they all ridiculously good looking for a reason? Clint didn't like it, nor the way they were manhandling Storm.

Storm swept her stunning eyes his way. A comet colliding with his chest would have had less impact than their eyes locking. "Apollo," she pointed to the blonde, "Mario," the frowning brunette with the darker complexion, and finally, the man with black hair whose eyes while blue did not have the power of Storm's, "and Sky. My cousins. Simon is our manager and my friend." She said it softly but directly to him as if she too wanted to be sure he understood they were her family.

"Pleasure," Steve mumbled, glaring at him until Clint shrugged and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

"Barton, you won't sleep," Natasha huffed. 

"I will when it wears off."

"Anyway," Steve murmured, drawing all eyes back to him, "You were never to know we were there. Our Intel said that while this group liked to make a scene, they usually struck from the outside. Unfortunately, that was not tonight's case."

"And you just happened to have someone stashed in the rafters because you expected them to be outside our venue?" Apollo huffed. "Storm damn near got blown up!"

"It would have been a lot worse if we weren't there!" Clint snapped. "Whether you like it or not, getting Storm out was the only way to sideline this group! She's who they want!" Again that soft hum came and tumbled through his chest.

"Please," Storm murmured. "Anger from fear won't help things."

"We know you're Inhuman." It was Stark who said it so bluntly, but it was the three men and Simon who stiffened, not Storm. 

She sighed and shook her head. "I am, but I'm not."

"Storm… _ prosektikó, _ " Sky murmured, squeezing her shoulder.

She shrugged him off. "I'm tired of the secrets, Sky. Tired of always hiding. If someone's going to know, who better than the Avengers?"

They all began to argue in a language Clint didn't understand until Vision loudly cleared his throat. "Your dialect may be ancient, but I still understand the Greek well enough to follow along. I would highly recommend not lying to us."

Storm rose to her feet, pushing off the men who tried to hold her back with a hiss and a click that set them on their heels. "A year before the Terragenesis incident, I noticed strange things happening to my voice."

"Strange how?" Bruce asked.

"It was clearer, sharper, more powerful. At concerts, I would sing, and it was like parts of the song were just… _more_ suddenly. People began to get clingy and… worshipful. It was unnerving. I didn't like it. I didn't like how people were reacting to it and went home to talk to my _giagiá_ , my grandmother, about it. She told me I was blessed with a gift not often seen in our family and advised me to go home."

"I thought you were home?" Sam asked.

"No, not that home. Crete, home. To the island where I could meet the family who stayed." She smiled at her cousins. "It was there I met  _ giagiá _ Aure, their grandmother. She had a less potent form of the gift and explained the history to me. You see," she quietly cleared her throat and shot Clint a hesitant look, "I descended from Sirens."

No one said anything for a minute, then Tony slumped against a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"It sounds improbable," Simon murmured, "but I assure you it's real. Storm has the Siren's Song. When we went to Crete, it became apparent she had it, but couldn't control it." He reached out and took her hand.

Storm squeezed it and smiled at him. "For a while, we thought I'd never be able to sing again. My gift was so powerful I couldn't separate it from my regular song. Then one morning, I woke up in a pile of rocks and dust, and since then, I've had full voice — complete control. No slips. No blunders. My normal voice is richer than before, but now I can choose which voice to sing in. Plus, they," she motioned to her cousins, "can sing out and negate my song if they need to. If I get too into my set."

Clint looked at the rest of his team and found looks of disbelief and uncertainty. "What's a Siren's Song?" he asked when no one else did.

"Like the sirens of legend, I can coax you to do what I want with song. You can try and resist, but not many are able."

"Can you show us?" Vision asked, his hand on Wanda's shoulder. 

"No, no. No brain juju. No playing with any one's head!" Bucky snapped.

Storm shook her head and held up her hands. "It's not brain juju, brainwashing, or anything like that. It's more like hypnosis. My song is a suggestion. What I sing, I can make you feel. It wears off within a few hours or," here a dusting of pink coloured her cheeks, "I can remove it completely with… with a kiss."

"Kiss?" Stark's mouth twitched. "This is some fairytale stuff right here."

"And where do you think those tales come from but reality?" Apollo sneered.

"Buddy, I will knock your teeth down your throat if you don't lose the attitude," Clint scowled. "We're doing our best to catch up here."

"He's right," Storm said, cutting off whatever reply her cousin was about to make. "I can show you if someone wants to volunteer?"

"I'm up for a demo," Natasha smirked.

When the others gradually nodded, Storm glanced at Steve. "May I use you, Captain?"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Why me?"

"You're naturally quite strong. It will… make the best example." 

A little put out that she chose Steve, Clint huddled over his coffee, but with her explanation, he found himself interested again. Just what was she going to do?

"Fair enough." Steve stepped into the center of the room when Storm bid him follow her.

"Hold out your arm, please," she asked and placed her hand on it when Steve complied. "Just to show everyone, I'm not enhanced by strength, resist me."

A comical few seconds passed as she jerked and tugged on him, causing Steve to crack a smile when it was clear Storm was putting effort into it, and he was going nowhere. Then she set both hands on his outstretched arm and jumped, shoving with all her might only for Steve to flex just enough to contract the muscles in his forearm.

"Show off," Sam coughed, earning chuckles from everyone.

"Alright," Storm smiled when she'd proved her point. "The song will affect everyone to some extent, but I will do my best to direct the majority of my power toward you, Captain."

"Seeing as how I'm your guinea pig may as well call me Steve." Amusement now replaced Steve's suspicion. 

Clint knew how he felt. Storm fit her name — coming through like a whirlwind to throw one for a loop. You couldn't help but like her.

She looked a last time at her cousins. All three men wore sour expressions, but one by one, they began to hum. It was low, but the vibration set Clint's neck hair on end.

Storm stepped away from Steve, backing up until she was a good ten feet from him. Then the electric blue of her eyes seemed to sharpen, and the scent of sea-soaked air flooded the room. 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing. "I was a heavy heart to carry; my beloved was weighed down. My arms around his neck. My fingers laced to crown. I was a heavy heart to carry; my feet dragged across the ground. And he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown."

The smell of the sea grew stronger, almost as if waves crashed in the room. A salt spray cooled Clint's face, and a breeze lifted the ends of Storm's hair.

"My love has concrete feet; my love's an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall." She opened her eyes and set goosebumps rising on Clint's arms when her face changed, becoming fixed in lines of seduction. "I'm so heavy. Heavy. Heavy in your arms. I'm so heavy. Heavy. Heavy in your arms."

A sense of calm came over him; then, lethargy settled into his limbs. Clint felt weighted as if something was pulling at him and shook his head. 

It didn't help.

"And is it worth the wait, all this killing time? Are you strong enough to stand, protecting both your heart and mine? Who is the betrayer? Who's the killer in the crowd? The one who creeps in corridors and doesn't make a sound."

She lifted her hands, letting them twist and move; sway like dancing waves. Steve took a stuttered step forward, then fought the impulse and stepped back.

Storm smirked and kept singing. "My love has concrete feet; my love's an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall. My love has concrete feet; my love's an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall." This time she beckoned him, and Steve couldn't even drag his foot off the ground.

"I'm so heavy. Heavy. Heavy in your arms. I'm so heavy. Heavy. So heavy in your arms." 

Clint jolted in surprise as her voice rose and split into two. She harmonized with herself in a physically impossible way. 

"This will be my last confession, "I love you" never felt like any blessing. Oh. Whispering like it's a secret only to condemn the one who hears it with a heavy heart." She flattened her palm on the air as if against a wall and pushed.

Steve gasped, and his hand flew to his chest.

Storm's voice rose to a crescendo, her dual voices crashing waves against rocks. "Heavy, heavy, I'm so heavy in your _arms_. Heavy, heavy, I'm so heavy in your _arms_. Heavy, heavy, I'm so heavy in your _arms_. Heavy, heavy, I'm so heavy in your _arms_."

She took gliding steps toward Steve, closing the distance, swaying with so much grace it hurt to look directly at her. "I was a heavy heart to carry; my beloved was weighed down. My arms around his neck. My fingers laced to crown." Another step and Clint was mesmerized by the look of rapture on Steve's face. The man was under heavy thrall, unable to move or look away. "I was a heavy heart to carry, but he never let me down. When he had me in his arms, my feet never touched the ground."

She stopped a step away from him, hand raised, hovering an inch from Steve's chest. "I'm so heavy, heavy in your arms. Heavy. I'm so heavy in your arms."

Storm's index finger lightly landed on Steve's chest.

He crashed to the floor, a pile of limbs.

"Holy… hell," Clint murmured.

"Damn," Sam whispered.

"Steve?" Concern laced Bucky's voice. "Steve!" It grew sharper when he didn't answer right away.

"I'm… okay," Steve panted, bent over his knees. "Everything is… heavy. I can't… lift my arms. Feels like… water pulling me down."

Storm crouched and cupped his face, tilting Steve's chin up. "Let me." She pressed her mouth to Steve's in a slow but chaste kiss. When she pulled away, Steve's eyes were bright, and the strain he'd been under was gone.

"That's some power you got there," he said, a blush on his face.

Storm smiled and accepted his help as Steve stood and shook his head in amazement. "It's a gift."

"Why the kiss?" Wanda asked.

Storm blushed and looked away. "In legend, my kind would drag unsuspecting sailors to meet their doom, sing them into the rocks and then drown them. A kiss would end their thrall, break the binding between the two, and the siren would watch as the sailor was carried into the black depths knowing he'd willingly gone to his death." She sighed and shook her head. "They were evil creatures."

"Wouldn't call that willing," Bucky mumbled.

"I would," Steve disagreed. "You could have put me on the ground with the first chorus, couldn't you?"

Storm gave a hesitant nod. "I only need a few lines of a song to begin the enchantment, but the longer I can sing, the more… potent the reaction."

"And the song?" Natasha asked. "I've heard you sing it before on your album. Isn't that dangerous?"

"No. The song doesn't matter; it's the voice in which I sing it. That was Siren's voice. Multifaceted, ranging through octaves, creating a sense of sea and surf. It's hypnotic and lyrical and can be applied to anything. I could sing that I want you to walk off the edge of the building, and you would do it because that's how it works."

"Of course, Storm would never do that!" Simon squawked when everyone grew a little nervous.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Of course not! I just want to make music and sing. Now that my siren voice is under control, I keep it tucked away so it doesn't cause problems. I don't like how having that," she waved vaguely at the floor where Steve had landed, "kind of control over people makes me feel. I only want to sing and make music they enjoy. It's what I've always wanted."

"Wanda?" Stark asked.

Everyone focused on the little witch. "She speaks truth. Storm never intended to use her powers on stage. Chicago was exception."

Storm sagged in evident relief against her manager's shoulder. 

Tony and Steve exchanged a look and a nod before Tony spoke again, clapping his hands together. "Well, it's late, or early depending on your preference. We'll get you all set up in guest rooms for the night, then put a plan together to help keep Storm safe."

"You mean this isn't over?" she asked, fear dripping from her words.

Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. This is the first time this group hasn't gotten the person they've gone after. They will try again."

"We can protect our own," Apollo huffed. "Now that we know there is a threat."

Clint wanted to hit the man with something. Arrow. Coffee cup. Marble. Fist. He didn't much care what, just bean the asshole between the eyes.

"No, we can't!" their manager snapped. "You saw what they could do! Siren song or not, it won't be enough to keep Storm safe!"

"Simon," she sighed, placing her hand on his arm. 

The low hum filled the room and Clint's chest again. It seemed to steal the tension out of the others. 

"We can't do this alone." She snapped up a hand when her cousins made to protest. "Enough! I'm tired." She turned to face Clint, ignoring everyone else. "Mr. Barton? Would you mind showing me to my room?"

He blinked twice before hopping off his perch, his full cup of coffee abandoned. "Sure thing."

She came toward him, her stellar eyes like a punch to the sternum, and hooked her arm through his before he could offer it. Then they were somehow in the elevator before anyone else had moved. Clint wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten there but had the wherewithal to brace his body when Storm slumped against him. 

"You okay there?"

She nodded. "Tired. So tired."

He didn't think, just swept her off her feet into his arms. "Friday? Where am I goin'?"

"The boss says to put her in your guest room. Her family will be housed on the guest level." 

Clint frowned but didn't question it. There was more than enough space and, for once, his floor was clean. Instead, he turned his focus to Storm. "This a Siren thing?" he asked.

"Little," she murmured, her breath washing over his skin. "Mostly adrenalin crash." She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled closer.

"Mm." A grunt was the best he could do. 

Her hair smelled like the ocean when it rained, ozone and clean earth and salt sea, but there was something else beneath it. Something sweet and light. Something floral. 

It was wonderful, but he didn't think she'd take kindly to him burying his face in her hair to suss it out. 

They reached his floor without him embarrassing himself, and Clint started down the hall to his door. Each member of the team had designated living space though they spent more time together on any given floor or in their communal rooms. However, sometimes they just needed space.

Space to Tony meant five thousand square feet of indulgence and luxury, but Clint wasn't about to complain. 

He nudged the door open with his hip and hollered, "Sit!" before his overly excited three-legged golden retriever could leap up on him. "Lucky, sit!"

The dog skidded to a stop on his butt, tail slapping the ground, mouth open in a happy grin that never failed to make Clint smile.

"Oh! Look at your dog!" Storm squealed, extricating herself from his arms with a kick that likely could have done damage to anyone coming into contact with it. But she landed lightly and dropped immediately to the ground to take Lucky's face in her hands. "Who's a good boy? Who's a fuzzy love?" she giggled and cooed and rubbed Lucky's ears.

"Well, now you've done it," Clint snickered, shutting the door and crouching down beside her when Lucky flopped on his back. "You've made a friend for life."

She rubbed her hands up and down Lucky's belly, putting his dog into a state of ecstasy Clint was only a little jealous over. "He's so great with his three legs. And you call him Lucky! That's adorable."

Clint blinked twice. "If you tell me pizza's your favourite food, I may have to fall in love with you."

Storm grinned big and beautiful. "I do like pizza, but I'm also a fan of sushi. Pretty sure that's a siren thing."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Damn. Too bad."

She pouted. "You don't like sushi, Hawkguy?"

His hand was in her hair, stroking it back, tucking it behind her ear without his conscious approval. "Its Hawk _ eye _ , fish girl."

She laughed and shoved him, so he fell on his butt. "It's Storm or Siren. No fish involved unless they're raw and wrapped in rice."

Clint shook his head at her teasing. He liked her. Liked her more than was probably safe at this point, but that didn't stop him. "You hungry or just tired?"

She scratched Lucky a final time, sending the dog into wiggles of ecstatic bliss before climbing to her feet. "What I really want is a beer."

"I can do a beer." Clint rolled backward and up to his feet, ignoring the voice in his head - the one that sounded suspiciously like Natasha - whispering that he was showing off. 

"So, you house all the people you rescue, or am I just special?" she asked, her eyes warm with what he thought was appreciation when she followed him into the kitchen.

"Not sure what Tony's angle is with this. Maybe he just wants to piss on Apollo."

Storm snorted. "He does tend to rub people wrong."

Clint shrugged, unwilling to say what he really thought. "And besides, I'm not the one usually doing the face to face rescue." He pulled open the fridge and plucked up two bottles, noting the lack of groceries. Thank god she didn't want food. He had none.

He turned in time to watch her slide on a stool, brow raised. "What?"

"You're an Avenger. Don't you rescue people all the time?"

"Sure, but I'm a sharpshooter — a sniper. I work from a perch. It's what I excel at. Steve, Tony, Nat, those are the guys on the ground floor. They interact with people. I pick off the baddies attempting to stop them." He flicked the top off the first beer, bounced the bottle cap off his wrist, then his elbow and sent it spinning around the sink before sliding the bottle across the island to Storm's hand.

"Damn." She whistled soft and low. "Can you do that again?"

Clint shrugged but flicked the top off his bottle and sent it sailing into the sink with the same double bump.

A slow grin worked across her face. "So, the rumour is true?"

"Which one?" he snorted, aware of a few. Some more flattering than others.

"That you never miss."

He chuckled. "Never miss." Clint twisted and grabbed a bottle cap from the sink. "Want me to prove it?"

A slow smile spread before she nodded. "Yeah."

"Don't move, okay?"

She crossed her heart and sat very still, eyes alight with excitement. 

Clint plotted his course carefully before reaching for her hand, turning it palm up, and setting it an inch below the lip of her bottle. "Don't move that hand."

"I won't! Just do it already!" 

He laughed and chucked the bottle cap. It bounced off the fridge handle, stove vent, flew out into the living room to ping off a lampshade, came back into the kitchen where Clint raised a hand, rebounding it off his arm guard. He deflected it down to the countertop where it bounced straight up off the ceiling light, and down to slap flat to the top of Storm's bottle before flipping off, landing square in the palm of her hand.

He chuckled when she continued to gape at him.

"Holy hell," Storm whispered, closing her fingers around the bottle cap. "That was amazing!"

She hummed that happy sound as Clint skirted the island. "Amazing is that thing you do with the humming."

It stopped and nearly made him stumble with its abrupt end.

"What?" she whispered, her eyes wide. 

"That hum. It vibrates right here." Clint tapped his chest. "Feels nice. Comforting."

"You… you can hear that?"

Clint frowned. "Am I not supposed to?"

She shook her head. "It's a siren thing."

He waited for her to elaborate, finally nudging her foot when she didn't. 

Storm motioned to the sofa with her beer. "This is going to take a bit. Do you mind?"

Clint was already standing with his hand out to lead her to the couch. Lucky jumped up, taking the middle seat, but they sat and somehow remained connected through the dog begging attention, each burying a hand in his fur. 

“Go ahead, Storm,” Clint encouraged. 

She sighed and stroked Lucky’s head. “I knew nothing about sirens before going to Crete, but once I arrived, it was like diving headfirst into another culture. Giagiá Aure, she was so kind and patient with me when I didn’t understand. It all felt so… crazy,” she chuckled. “For a while, I was sure they were making it up, teasing the foreigner, but then Apollo, Sky, and Mario arrived, called in from other villages, and Aure  _ showed _ me the truth.”

“How’d she do that?” Clint asked, his fingers tangling with hers over Lucky’s ribs. 

Storm looked at him from behind her lowered lashes and hummed. The sound made him shiver and close his eyes as it washed over him. 

“Siren’s are matriarchal,” she continued, even as he fought his eyes open. “The females rule their pod. Apollo, Sky, and Mario are my pod. Simon too, but it’s different with him. He’s family, another cousin through my side of the family, but he’s not got the siren blood. He can’t  _ feel _ me when I converse with the others. That little hum is my way of connecting with those who belong to me. Until now, that’s only ever been my cousins.”

Clint nodded slowly. “Well, what’s that mean about me? I’m no siren.” 

“I don’t know,” Storm murmured, watching him with those bright, shining eyes. Her fingers slipped further into his until their palms pressed together. “But I’d like to find out.” She looked away, a red blush washing through her cheeks. “I think… even before I knew you were in the rafters, I knew you were there. Something about tonight felt… different.” 

She took a long pull from her beer Clint couldn’t help but watch, fascinated by the working of her throat. She lowered it, sighed, then belched so long and loud he burst out laughing, and Lucky lifted his head to stare at her in awe.

“Oh, god!” Storm groaned, slapping a hand to her face. “That was ladylike.”

“It was fucking great!” he chuckled, rising to pull her to her feet. “C’mon. It’s late. I’ll show you to your room.”

She stood up, and they were suddenly inches apart. Clint took her by the elbow to steady her when she appeared to grow list - a combination of fatigue and the beer he suspected. Her opposite hand landed on his chest, and she swung those stunning eyes up, sending another punch to his gut when they locked. 

“Did I thank you for saving me?” she asked softly.

“Pretty sure it was implied, even if you never got around to sayin’ it,” he smiled. "Besides, it's what I do."

Her fingers curled into his tac-vest and pulled until he bent toward her. Storm pressed up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling back an inch but not away. 

Clint’s skin tingled, his chest felt tight, and he couldn’t look away from the deep blue eyes peering up at him. “Storm…”

Her gaze fell to his lips, and he moved without thought to lower his head and press his mouth to hers. It was barely a brush of lips, but it sparked an inferno of  _ want _ deep inside him. She sighed so sweetly, he parted his lips and pulled her bottom one between his for a small nibble. 

Storm fitted her body to his. Her arm slipped around his neck, and her tongue flitted across his mouth. 

The soft sound she made had him burying his hand in her hair and taking, sinking in, ravaging. She tasted like salt and sweet caramels, like something he’d find in a seaside village. The sharp scent of the ocean filled his nose, mellowed by fresh flowers. 

She moaned and broke the kiss to stare up at him, eyes wide in wonder. “Wow.”

Clint chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Guess you’ve got other talents besides that perfect aim.”

He bent toward her and used the hand still buried in her hair to stretch her neck and run his nose over one specific spot. Storm shuddered and moaned, her hands clenching on him reflexively. “Just so you know, my aim translates to…  _ other _ areas as well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispered. 

Clint scraped his teeth over her pulse point and pulled away. "Let me show you your room."

"Mm, I'd rather see yours."

It was all the invitation he needed. 

Catching her behind the thighs, Clink jerked Storm up his body and started through the room, grateful for once that his apartment was clean and hazard free.

He paused in the hallway to press her against the wall and work sucking kisses down her throat before dragging her back and finishing the mad dash to his bedroom when she pulled his hair and sank her teeth into his lip.

Again he stopped long enough to rest her against the doorframe and hold her there, grinding his erection into her core. "Storm, you sure?"

"Yes, I want you, Clint! Fuck!" She jerked his head back to seal their mouths together. 

Clint stumbled into his bedroom and slammed the door with his foot to keep Lucky out.

He'd let the dog in later. 

Much later.

****  
  



End file.
